One moonlit evening, Jacob kept his eyes on the road and smiled a Cheshire-cat grin; as he concentrated on driving, Vivian concentrated on driving her tongue along the highway of his neck—kissing it, flicking it, nibbling on it—her journey continued around the curve of his ear. Vivian cradled his unresponsive hand in the ICU and whispered, “My God, what have I done?”
The cacophony created by the amateur guitarist’s amplifier reached the ears of Flufn’Stuff – who was daydreaming on the balcony of the third-story building next door – and threatened to throw her into a misanthropic rage. Having witnessed Flufn’Stuff’s last rage Kaylee, her minion, took matters into her own hands and saved the neighbor’s life by covertly micturating on the outdoor fuse box, shutting off their power.
I admire you for knowing when to walk away. But I despise you for actually doing so.